Family
by JaiDLacey
Summary: No one knew what went on inside that house besides Oliver, Allan, and Matthieu. Allan would make a mistake, Oliver would punish him, and Matthieu would be left to pick up the broken pieces of his brother and stepfather.
1. Chapter 1

"Allan? Would you come here please?" Oliver's light voice rang out.

Allan's small feet pitter-pattered their way toward Oliver, and then skidded to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen. He smiled innocently up at the older man, who grinned just as brightly down at him.

Oliver held out a small plate of sugar cookies. "It's a new recipe," he explained, watching closely as Allan took a bite. Exactly 75.4 seconds later, the boy was bent over in pain. Oliver grinned, knowing that it felt like someone had taken a knife to his abdominal muscles and was twisting it around obscenely.

Through the tears, Allan managed to cry, "What did I do?!"

Oliver sighed. "The Boston Tea Party, my dear Allan. That was a waste of some delicious Earl Grey tea."

Allan stared at him, his brilliant scarlet eyes full of pain. "That wasn't my fault. It was my people. I can't control them-"

His protests earned him a well-placed kick to the sternum. "Learn to control them, Allan. Or I will do it for you." He paused, thinking. Suddenly, Oliver slammed his foot into Allan's gonads.

Allan shrieked and started vomiting. Oliver stared down at him, absolutely disgusted. "Next time you won't leave your fucking bat on the porch, now will you?"

Allan moaned in response.

Oliver spit in the teenager's face. "I can't believe I actually wasted perfectly good formaldehyde on you." He turned and walked back into the kitchen, muttering to himself about ungrateful teenagers and how he could hide razors in vegan cheese.

Allan rolled over slowly, not wanting to see the sickeningly blue walls of Oliver's kitchen any longer. As he settled on his right side, slipping in and out of consciousness, he noted a pair of black boots moving toward him.

When he awoke, he was in his bed, a damp rag on his forehead and a blond haired boy at his bedside. "Matthieu?" he murmured, certain he was suffering from intense delusions. There was no way his stepbrother was sitting at his bedside while he was sick. That boy was a robot, he had no fucking feelings.

"It's me, Allan," that familiar voice answered. "You're not dreaming."

Al smiled. The last thing he remembered was a cool hand on his cheek and a kiss on his forehead, accompanied by the words, "Je t'aime."


	2. Chapter 2

Matthieu sighed before entering Oliver's kitchen. As soon as he stepped in his skin started crawling, and he knew damn well that he was in that twat's territory now. He swallowed hard, gripping his hockey stick tighter, and considered turning around. But no, this was for his little brother. There was no hound in Hell that would stop him now.

Matt took a single step forward and instantly froze, the warm flesh of his neck being held dangerously close to a cold steel knife.

"Oh, it's you, Mattie," Oliver's voice sang out as the smoke in the kitchen cleared. "I thought you were Allan, coming back for a second round. That boy never did know when to quit…" His voice trailed off as he pulled on a pair of oven mitts and took out a batch of freshly baked cupcakes. Matthieu could tell by the slight bluish tint that they were laced with deadly amounts of Rohypnol.

"Roofie-cakes?" He asked, trying to strike up a conversation. "Who are they for?"

Oliver turned to him with that creepy, porcelain doll smile he had perfected over the years. "It depends on who angers me first, of course."

Matthieu knew it was a straight up challenge, daring him to continue asking stupid questions. He sighed. "Speaking of people pissing you off," he began cautiously. When Oliver continued decorating his cupcakes calmly, Matt continued. "I was thinking, you know, you've been kinda hard on Al lately."

Oliver snorted derisively. "You haven't even BEGUN to see hard, Mattie-poo."

Matthieu cringed at the nickname. "I know you can do worse but…it's no fun kicking someone while they're down, you know?"

Oliver looked at him strangely. "And here I thought you were trying to convince me to go easy on your brother." A grin split his freckled face. "This is why you're my favorite."

Matt grinned and straightened his back. "I was raised by Francois, of all people. I don't know what mercy is."

Oliver walked over to his stepson and brushed a light kiss on his cheek. "Alright, you convinced me. He gets three days off, then I'm hitting him with a heavy batch of cyanide, ok?"

Matt nodded his approval. "Sounds awesome."


End file.
